


Sometimes you have to look back in order to understand the things that lie ahead

by TheTimetravellerCat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Coming Out, Communication, Flashbacks, Healthy Communication, Homophobia, Kent is trans, Kit is not a long haired cat in this, Loosely Canon Compliant, M/M, Non Linear Narrative, Personal Growth, Reflection, Therapy, Trans Character, You heard me, a bunch of dark stuff, i've obviously taken liberties, rookie!Swoops, the aces are not a supportive bunch, veteran!Scraps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimetravellerCat/pseuds/TheTimetravellerCat
Summary: "NHL player kisses blond man at Center Ice" is what almost every gossip newspaper in the country is going to run. But sometimes, we forget that behind narratives lie people, people with a story, a name, and a future.Kent sees Jack Zimmermann kissing Eric Bittle at Center Ice. He is happy for him, and he wonders if that's something he will also get to do one day, kissing the boy of his life at Center Ice... or maybe just at the mall. He is not asking for much.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Scraps (Check Please!)
Kudos: 18





	1. Scraps, Kent, and a cat

**Author's Note:**

> The quote I used for the title of this fic is from Yvonne Woon.
> 
> This is going to be a long fic, I have, however, no schedule for it. I'll post chapters as I write them. Also, I started this fic in 2018, so it has been a hot minute. I might need some time to get in the flow of it again
> 
> It is a non-linear narrative, it alternates between present time and flashbacks. If both cohabites in a chapter, it will be indicated by a separation.
> 
> It will probably deal with heavy subjects, your discretion is advised.

Kent was sitting on a stool at the counter of a bar when he saw it. They were all “hanging out” for the final game, game seven. The Falcs were in final and he was trying to not be jealous. Eh, he already had two cups under his belt, right? As his former therapist used to say, other people achieving things doesn’t lessen his worth. Yeah, he was still a good player; this year was simply not his time to shine in the playoffs. It was okay, he would get another shot next season. And until then, he would prepare himself, get ready to tackle the ice again and to show them who Kent Parson was. Hell yeah!

He looked over at Scraps, smiling, only to find him with his brow curiously frowned.

“Everything is all right, dude?” Concern filled his voice.

“Uhh, I think you should see that.” He said, looking sheepishly and handing out his phone to Kent.

“Not sure you’ve noticed, but it’s all over the screens, the Falcs-” He shut himself up as he caught a glimpse of what was playing on Scraps’ phone.

He knew this would come, eventually. He had told him they were thinking about coming out. He had told him they would do it sooner or later. And that it meant he should probably think about what he – Kent – wanted to do. There was no threat, they would not say anything about him, but they thought he should have a fair warning beforehand.

Kent had then sickeningly realized that he wasn’t entirely sure he would have warned Jack if he had come out. He wasn’t absolutely sure he wouldn’t have, but he wasn’t so sure he would have either.

He had brought that up to his therapist and they had worked on that. They had concluded that there was progress. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have cared at all and he would have let Jack unknowing of the storm about to come, careless of the consequences of his actions on others. But today, he knew better than to think he was alone and that nothing else mattered. And a lot of that could be attributed to Kit. Getting her had made him learn a lot of things about himself and others. Being responsible for another living, breathing being had changed his way of seeing the world. The road there hadn’t been smooth, far from it, but it had been very rewarding.

/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_/\

A few years back, his therapist had asked him if he had thought about getting a cat. To which Kent had answered that, frankly, he was always on the road, so what was the point to own a cat if it was to never see it. Though, it’s worth noticing that, since then, he had improved. First, you don’t own a cat, they own you and you mostly end up being happy to be their human and to share your life with them. Then, you don’t speak about cats like if they were objects – seriously, grammar rules be damned, they’re beings with emotions and a soul – you respect their life. And finally, well, it was mostly about making sure that said life get to be fulfilling for them more than anything else, really. But at that time, they had dropped the subject.

Yet, it had made Kent think a lot. He, indeed, had thought about getting a cat… when he was a kid. As he grew older, this thought had become more and more a fainted memory in the back of his mind. He had to admit that his state of mind back in the Q wasn’t the clearest. But now, it was another story. Of course, he was still kind of a wreck and he had just started therapy for real after avoiding it for a long time, not having the best past experiences with therapists – and had acknowledged that it wasn’t going to be an instant process at all – but he was more focused on everything, and he was actually not avoiding thinking about what he was feeling and why he was feeling that way anymore. Thus, this thought came back to him more and more, until it was cornering him so often that he couldn’t not think about it and dissect it, analyze it.

So, one evening, when he came back to his flat exhausted after a thorough practice, he gave in. He sat down at his dinner table, took a notepad out and made lists.

Why was he thinking about getting a cat almost constantly: he was alone (he wrote this one bitterly); there was only hockey in his life, letting plenty of space for any unwanted thought to come to him – including getting a cat; he didn’t like unanswered questions and it felt like one since his therapist and him dropped the matter.

Why getting a cat was a bad idea: he was never there (okay, actually not _never_ but it was a close one); cat hair everywhere on everything (even though he could probably get used to it, he did get used to hair everywhere on _him –_ when he clearly thought he never would – after all); early morning feeding (not that he already had to get up early no matter what…); he would have to be at home early at night (even though this one was probably good for him, it was hard to give up bad habits); SLEEP (cats don’t understand how not to interrupt one’s sleep, but, to be completely fair, he would probably fell asleep a lot easier with a cat in his bed than alone with his head full of thoughts, which could make up for the disrupting); having to buy cat food and cat furniture (okay, that was a fake problem, first because he had a delivery service, and second because he clearly had the money for this); veterinarian fees (okay, that was a fake problem too).

He sighed as he realized that by now he was mostly debunking any point he was writing down. Obviously, he wasn’t that crazy. He knew better than to get a cat on an impulse, but, eventually, he could bring back the subject with his therapist. If he didn’t die from the embarrassment of admitting he had been wrong and that, yes, they should – maybe – explore the idea again – well, not exactly _again_ as he had previously done whatever he could to not explore it before it actually could become a tangible idea. Besides, he felt like he needed someone to at least sort this out, and that, by any means, did not mean he would get a cat. No.

As to prove himself right on that last point, he didn’t write a list on why he should get a cat.

A few days later, as he sat in front of his therapist, he didn’t waste any time and bluntly declared:

“I’ve been thinking a lot. About the cat thing. Actually, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” His therapist repeated, not pointing out the lack of introduction, having since long learned that sarcasm or teasing wouldn’t lead anywhere with Kent.

“You know what I mean.” Kent answered grumpily. His therapist only returned him a pointed look. “Okay, fine, maybe not exactly annoyed. Just. Ugh. Okay, no, I’m annoyed. It’s just like, I’m not annoyed because I think about it. I’m annoyed because I’m considering it. It would mean I was wrong.” He gave in.

“Why would you be wrong?”

“Well, you know. Because, uh, you asked me if I wanted to get a cat and I told you no and that I didn’t need a cat? But obviously it wasn’t exactly true.”

“I asked you if you had considered it which-”

“If you’re gonna explain me how much I’m wrong, you can stop right now because-”

“Kent.” He said quietly and with no animosity nor exasperation.

“Okay, fine, I’m listening.”

“Which doesn’t call for a right or wrong answer. And you actually never answered it. I’m also starting to know you, hence, I think this could explain you going back to it over and over again. It feels like an unfinished conversation and you’re treating it as such.”

“But...” Kent was a tad lost.

“You dodged the question.” His therapist provided. “You answered why you couldn’t and shouldn’t get a cat, not if you had ever considered the matter.”

“Hm. I actually made lists about that this week. And, uh, yeah, it feels like we weren’t done.”

“So you made lists about?”

“Why I was thinking ‘bout it and, uh, well, why it was a bad idea. To, uh, get a cat.”

“And did you make a list about why it could be a good idea?”

Kent frowned, he had to admit that his therapist was good and really started to get how he worked. Though a bit embarrassed to have been seen right through so easily, he still answered after a short pouting-silence.

“No.” He didn’t give further motives, still pouting slightly. Even though he knew there was no point in pouting, he couldn’t help it.

“Okay. Do you want to add something?”

“Hm.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to get impulsive. I didn’t want to get realistic about it.”

“Do you feel impulsive about it right now?”

“No, I’m talking to you about it instead.” Kent said, some pride instilling itself through his words. Progress, his mind whispered to him.

“Yes, that’s a great improvement!” Kent grinned sheepishly. “Now, do you want us to work on this list?”

“Hm. I think I want to, but I also think I’m scared to do it.”

“And why so?”

“Because it sounds like a huge commitment, and I think I’m kind of already convinced we could be onto something. And… I already told you why, practically, I couldn’t do that, but… I… I don’t want to get my hopes high.” The last sentence he said almost inaudibly.

“Yes. I heard you, and I knew you weren’t quite ready to go more in depth about the idea. That’s why I let you drop it and I made some research, and, keeping in mind that there is no pressure for you to make any kind of decision here, especially not _today_ , I still think it’s something worth considering. Knowing that, do you want to make that list?”

“Yes?” The doubt was barely noticeable, but still there. He wanted to know the content of the list, but he was somewhat wary about actually making the list, though he couldn’t get the former without the latter.

“We’re doing this together, at your pace.”

And so they did. They made the list while, throughout the process, his therapist explained him the concept of emotional support animals. Kent had been diagnosed with and anxiety disorder, not long after the hockey season ended, his first year. His diagnosis made him eligible for an ESA as it was ‘a verifiable disability’, and as he had a very formal note from his therapist about it who could also do the paperwork in order for Kent to get an animal who would become his ESA.

His therapist explained him that emotional support animals were usually dogs, but they both agreed that a dog wouldn’t be the best fit for Kent and the future would prove them that, if they couldn’t know for sure that a dog wouldn’t have help him as much, a cat showed themselves very life-changing for Kent. In a good way. This, after all, was the purpose of getting an ESA in the first place, to help him cope with his disorder, to help him function better.

Their next sessions gravitated essentially around this subject, and eventually, a decision was made and Kent went to speak with his GM about including a special clause in his contract.

After a long, open-hearted and civilized [: ‘An anxiety disorder? Seriously Parson? Your… condition should better not spoil your hockey! You know we’ve already taken a risk with you with...’ – ‘We’re managing it! That’s why I’m getting an ESA. And I already had an anxiety disorder when we won the fucking Stanley Cup. You just didn’t know about it.’ – ‘Well, I wish I still didn’t know about it. Fuck! Couldn’t you keep it to yourself?’ – ‘No. Are you going to let me get what I need? Or do we need to have this conversation with lawyers?’ – ‘Oh come on, you can’t be serious. Why can’t you just get a cat like everyone else, there is no need to put labels on you… We could… manage to, you know, scratch that out of you.’ – ‘For fuck’s sake! I’m not going to go to the first shitty news outlet and tell the sad story of Kent ‘I have an anxiety disorder’ Parson, if that’s what you’re worried about! Just let me have my fucking cat!’ – ‘Well, we’re not preventing you from getting a cat-’ – ‘As an ESA! Listen, you would fucking thought I had proven myself enough for this with my stats last year and my stats this year, and if you want it to continue this way-’ – ‘Fine! Fine. Get your fucking cat Parson. But I swear, don’t make us fucking regret this.’] _conversation_ , he finally found an arrangement that worked for everyone.

The next weeks – even months – were very frustrating as he had to wait for every administration involved to do their thing and finally give him the go ahead. But, eventually, he finally got to adopt Kit.

However, he didn’t want to do it alone. It was still a bit frightening to Kent. It was commitment. It was more than an in and out kind of deal. So, on the evening he had signed the new version of his contract, he had crashed at Scraps’ place, unannounced and nervous as hell. Scraps had first rambled at Kent about warning people before coming to someone’s place and he was about to go on about the respect of one’s privacy, but he promptly stopped as he realized that Kent wasn’t even trying to protest his light diatribe. He was nervously fidgeting with his snapback and was – that was truly the most frightening part – mostly remaining silent.

“Okay, you’re kind of freaking me out right now, so, why don’t we move to the living room and keep this discussion for another time. Not that I mind seeing this face of yours, but I would rather, you know, be given a warning before facing the Parson’s storm.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Kent followed him without making any fuss to the main living area. He sat on the edge of the sofa at Scraps’ vague hand motion conveying the invitation to do so, and, a moment later, Scraps was back with a tall glass of water that he handed to Kent. He took the glass in his sweaty hands, but didn’t drink from it. His stare was unfocused and he could feel his heart trying to make an escape out of his chest. Okay, he was kind of really freaking out. What the hell was he thinking? He definitely wasn’t ready for that, not in the slightest. Seriously, what was wrong with him.

“Hey, Kent? Just say something, start somewhere, with anything. Hell! You could say ‘cabbage’ that I wouldn’t even held it against you. But, uh, you’re frightening me right now.” Scraps said as he put his hands around Kent’s, still holding the glass of water. “If you can’t speak, well, uh, breathe, okay?” And as he said this, he started to exaggerate his breathing so Kent could, hopefully, follow it.

Kent stayed silent for a little while longer, but after a bit, he joined him and he finally got himself under control enough to blurt out a word, and then immediately chugged down the entire glass of water.

“Cat.”

“Cat? Okay? I didn’t know you had met a girl, but… wow wow, easy on the water, don’t choke please, I don’t want to explain to management that I killed Kent Parson-”

“No, no. A cat. I’m getting a cat!”

“Oh.”

“And management can fuck themselves.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going to say something useful?”

“Oi!” Scraps exclaimed, faux-indignant.

“Kidding!” Kent smirked. “But seriously, long story short, my therapist thinks me getting a cat would be a good idea, we discussed it a lot and I think it’s actually a good idea, The cat would be an ESA, for my… anxiety disorder.” His voice went low on the last word.

He still was a bit ashamed about his diagnosis and didn’t like saying it out loud. For whatever reason, it made him feel weaker, like if he was admitting to some huge weakness, and he was always afraid of people judging him for it.

“Hey.” Scraps said, softly. “We already talked about that. There is no shame to have about having an anxiety disorder.”

He took one of Kent’s hands and squeezed it. Kent put the glass down on the coffee table and looked at Scraps.

“I know, but, I… It still feels… not good. It makes me feel so vulnerable, weak, I hate it.”

“So what? You have an anxiety disorder, you’re seeing a therapist, and you’re apparently getting an ESA. I’m not a specialist, but that definitely doesn’t sound like you’re being ‘weak’ or whatever. You’re doing what you need to help yourself, to heal, and that’s fantastic! You should be proud. Kent, I’m never going to judge you, I hope you know that. And, shit. I’m proud.” He flashed him a big grin, he was proud, that was true, they had come a long way.

“Thanks Scraps.”

“No prob, bud.” He hummed and opted for a change in subject. “So, you said something about management being...”

“Dickheads. Real dickheads. You won’t believe what they fucking said.” And Kent launched himself into a cathartic rant.

They didn’t go and adopt the cat this day, but Kent felt better after speaking with Scraps. They ordered take-out, because neither of them felt like cooking. Kent was feeling exhausted after so many big emotions and he talked Scraps into watching reruns of Scooby-Doo, which he knew was annoying the crap out of Scraps, but it was one of his favorite episodes, the one about Nessie, and he was really tired and didn’t want to think much about anything and he promised Scraps that next time would be his turn to pick something.

After finishing his food, Kent settled against Scraps. Kent had always been a cuddler, and at first, he had thought that Scraps wasn’t much of one. But that was before he figured out the dude a bit more. Scraps didn’t mind cuddling, actually, he liked it when it was with people he trusted and liked, but the simple fact of mentioning the action, like having someone ask if they could hug him, put him off. And then, it was impossible for him to accept any physical bonding or touch, even if he was craving it. And initiating the contact was very hard for him.

Kent had learned all that when Scraps had bluntly asked him for a hug. Once. Kent had been surprised to say the least, it was a first. And he hadn’t thought before chirping him for it. This had made Scraps withdraw from the embrace almost immediately. Kent had felt really bad, because clearly, it had to be important if Scraps had decided to _ask_ for it, so he had apologized, for real, but Scraps had stood there, tight as a clam and Kent was thinking about leaving him alone, because he hadn’t say anything really mean and – fuck – he didn’t mean anything by it and if the dude wasn’t gonna even say something… but then he spoke. And Kent had made the voice in his head shut up.

Scraps talked for a long time, without ever looking at him, picking his words like he would carefully pick flowers, stopping and remaining silent for a little while when the words in his mind wouldn’t make it past his lips, or when the images in his head wouldn’t make into words, making frustrated noises but going on all the same. It was _important_ , he needed to get the words out, to explain to Kent, because it was making him frustrated and sad and upset. He wanted to be able to share this with him, to be physically close to him, like Kent was with other dudes, like Jeff or Fred, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon if he kept everything to himself and didn’t give Kent the Guide Of How To Scraps. So, he twisted his hands even more and kept going, until he was done.

When the final, hard-fought for, word was finally out, he felt anxious. What would Kent think of all of that? He didn’t need someone else to tell him he was a weirdo who needed to get over such easy things like that. Kent had stayed silent for a while after he was done, but in retrospect, he was probably just making sure Scraps was actually done talking. And then, all the chirping Scraps was bracing himself for never was. Kent had just said ‘Oh.’ and then ‘Okay, well, we could have a code, like spies or some shit, or I don’t know, something not verbal obviously.’ and Scraps had very rarely felt so much relief wash over him all at once. After that, they spent a good amount of time researching the best options.

In the end, they settled on Kent tapping him three times on the shoulder and if Scraps didn’t scratch his neck, Kent was good to go. Since then, Kent’s view of Scraps as a cold leave-me-alone type of guy changed drastically. Scraps got better at reciprocating when it was already initiated, though Kent assured him multiple times that it was okay too if he didn’t do anything back. And Kent learned to straight up ask Scraps for the Guide Of How To Scraps, which soon enough became an endearing harmless chirp between them while making their relationship easier and growing stronger.


	2. Kit Purrson

The sun had been up for a couple of hours already. It was late May, June was almost there, right around the corner, and Kent was officially in off-season.

They had made the playoffs but had lost during the Conference Finals. The loss had stung, especially when his rookie year’s win was still so fresh in his mind. He had moped for a few days until the exit interviews and then, he had texted Scraps.

‘ _Yo dude!’_

‘ _Hm?’_

‘ _Wanna come with me to adopt my cat?’_

‘ _Dunno’_

‘ _Come on!!! It will cheer us up!’_

‘ _Fine, I’m in. When?’_

‘ _Tomorrow? 8am?’_

‘ _Ugh. Why so early?’_

‘ _The shelter doesn’t open earlier than 8’_

‘ _I hate you’_

‘ _Pleeeeeeease’_

‘ _I’ll think about it’_

‘ _That means no’_

‘ _That means yes if I'm awake before 8 tomorrow’_

‘ _ok’_

And here he was, at 7:50am, alone in a parking lot, waiting for the shelter to open. Only ten more minutes.

He had woken up with the sun at 5:26am, and had gone for a short run. However, he had been too nervous to focus and had kept tripping over his own feet. So, he had cut it short and gone home. There, he had paced around his flat until madness had claimed him. Out of desperation, he had made his way to the shelter. One hour early.

While the clock was ticking away the minutes, Kent felt like he was about to throw up. This is why he had wanted Scraps to come with him. He wanted more than anything in the world to adopt a cat and love the hell out of it. But he was so scared of doing a mistake, of being unable to care for someone else. What if he messed up? What if he was a terrible terrible cat owner like the people declawing their cat? He knew he wouldn’t do that, but what if he became that person?

Okay, he was completely freaking out. Deep breaths, he told himself. Maybe he could text Scraps? He knew what Scraps had told him. He would come if he was awake. Scraps was allowed to sleep in, it’s not like he didn’t work his ass off any other day of the year. And Kent didn’t want to come off as clingy.

He should have been honest with him. He knew that was the best way to talk to Scraps: honesty. But he had been afraid, and it was hard to undo years and years of being secretive and survival strategies. All his childhood he had had to be careful and watch any word coming out of his mouth. It was now imprinted into his core. Not that he particularly wanted to act this way any longer, but you couldn’t erase years and years of conditioning by snapping your fingers. Kent was constantly working on it, trying to pick truth and honesty whenever he could. He was making extra effort with Scraps, because he knew how important it was to him, and moreover, he trusted him.

His trust was something Kent very rarely gave to people. He had given it to Scraps, after a while. Actually, he could almost pinpoint the moment he realized he trusted the guy. It wasn’t when he had suddenly blurted out about his diagnosis, nor when he had come out to him on every front, all at once. No. It was when he had come to his place one evening and accepted to crash for the night and realized he felt relaxed. He wasn’t anxious about saying yes to Scraps. Yes, he would happily stay and sleep there. There was no tension, no fear of what could happen, no anxiety of having to exist in the same space as Scraps. There was trust.

He trusted Scraps. He repeated it until his fingers stopped shaking. He drew his phone out. It was 8:07. He texted Scraps.

‘ _I lied.’ ‘I mean, no, I didn’t’ ‘But I wasn’t honest’ ‘I know you told me you would come if you were awake, and I totally understand, you can rest and stuff, and have your life’ ‘But I just can’t do it alone’ ‘I can’t, it’s too much’ ‘Can you come with me?’ ‘We can go another day’_

Eight texts. Oops. He forced himself to shut down his screen. He then clutched the phone to his chest and waited. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly in and out. He focused on how the sun’s rays were warming his back, on the noise of the city, cars passing by, people shouting… His phone vibrated.

‘ _I’m awake’ ‘Just, not showered’_

He sighed of relief.

‘ _Will be there before 9, okay?’_

‘ _Yes. Yes.’ ‘I’m in the parking lot’_

‘ _Okay.’ ‘Maybe you should take a little walk? I still have to shower and walk there’_

‘ _Yeah. Okay. Text me when you get here’_

‘ _Will do’_

He started a new text, erased it, started again, swore and sighed and just sent it. To hell if it was too cheesy or whatever. It was honest.

‘ _Thank you’_

He walked two blocks. Circled around the shelter. He was feeling better, still a bit shaky and tired from panicking earlier, but knowing he wasn’t going to be alone, not ever actually, not really, helped. Scraps texted him when he entered the parking lot. Kent smiled at him and waved him over.

Once Scraps was within arm reach, Kent softly tapped on Scraps’ shoulder and went in for a big hug. Sweat and hell temperatures be damned. He breathed in Scraps’ familiar soap scent and let himself be soothed by it. When Kent released him, Scraps was smiling.

“So, ready to adopt a little furry monster?”

“So ready, dude! Let’s do this!” Kent laughed nervously.

“It’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah?” Kent asked, looking at Scraps while worrying his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

Kent adjusted the snapback on his head, let out a big puff of air and headed to the shelter’s entrance. He was doing this.


	3. A kiss

As Kent watched the screen, watched the journalists’ reactions and the feelings on Jack’s and Bittle’s faces, he reflected on his own situation. He reflected on how different it was.

Jack had found the support and the confidence he needed to come out, to be happy. And he was glad for him. Jack sure deserved it. And he hoped he would keep it, he hoped the world would respond sensibly to it. He sadly knew most of his team would not.

For an instant, he wondered what would happen if suddenly everyone knew about him too.

Some knew. The GM. The persons who signed him. A few doctors. The PT guy knew. He didn’t switch doctors; he had said it was superstitions, but really it was just so he wouldn’t have to explain it all over again to someone else. He was tired of having to explain himself and frankly, whenever he could escape it, he did. He liked his life not revolving around his trans status and he liked his transness only being a part of it. He still remembers when it used to be so big he couldn’t think about anything else. He remembers when it used to eat him alive. Now, he appreciates the quietness of it… at least within himself.

The guys don’t know. He carefully chose not to disclose it to his teammates. Homophobic slurs fly back and forth so much sometimes that his head starts to spin. And he is almost convinced that half of them actually mean them. Especially Carl.

Sometimes, not very often but it would happen when he was feeling particularly optimistic, he would catch himself thinking that maybe if he came out to them, it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe they would be okay with him being trans. It’s not like they didn’t know he was a boy. He even came to think it would be less problematic than coming out as a gay man.

And that’s actually when it started to become all complicated.

People tended to get confused when he would say that he was a trans gay man. For whatever reason, they had this weird idea that trans people could only be straight; some would even say ‘But isn’t it the whole point of it? Being straight?’ And usually, Kent would just stare in disbelief and exhaustion.

He had always liked boys as far as he could remember, and no straight fairy came to visit him after he had transitioned, handing him keys to the Straight Kingdom. No. He had kept liking boys. And really, for him, that was it. But for others… it often tended to be… difficult to envision, to say the least.

So, regarding his teammates, he knew he would have to make a choice: trans or gay. Not both. Though, he wanted both, he also wanted some peace.

On one hand, coming out as trans might give him some of that peace. It would mean a lot if he could stop worrying about them finding out, about showering, about going to the toilets, about getting undressed, about getting dressed… and god what was that obsession about pantsing one another, seriously? A dick was a dick, what was the point of trying to get a glimpse at every other dick crossing their path?

But it would also mean unrequired questions and maybe even more confusion. Because speaking of it… Kent had no will to get a dick. In fact, he loved his body exactly as it was right now. And he didn’t need a dick for that, and he was glad he didn’t. Because needing it, wanting it, seemed real tough. If there was one thing he absolutely wasn’t missing, it was dysphoria. Besides, dealing with so many surgeries and risks was really something he was glad to be able to avoid. He understood why people went on with it, but he was happy he wouldn’t have to go through it.

But well, if **_he_** had no problem with this body, that wasn’t as true the other way around, with other people. Surprisingly – was he really that surprised about it though – it was really not uncommon for other people to have a problem with his very own body. And that was upsetting. Actually, that was fucking wrong. It was HIS body, not theirs, after all. And he was fucking tired of people inventing problems about it, of people not believing him when he would say ‘oh yeah, I like my body now’, of people trying to convince him that he wasn’t at home in his body, of people pushing him to admit that he hated his body, when, in fact, he did not.

Why was it so hard to accept that a trans person could be one hundred percent fine with their body? Why was it so hard to accept someone else’s happiness? All of this made him very angry. Because, clearly, it meant only one thing. To them, trans people weren’t worthy of happiness. To them, they could only be depressed, desperate, perpetually unhappy and ill. And that was so wrong on so many levels that it made Kent’s mind go blank. There was simply way too much irrationality in this that he couldn’t even process it.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one to get angry about this. His boyfriend was having none of it as well. His boyfriend was perfect – okay, no one was ever entirely perfect, but damned he loved everything about that boy. Which led him to the other part.

On the other hand, coming out as gay would mean that he could get to finally let the world know about how madly in love he was with Scraps. Or at least, how happy they were. Which meant a lot. He would be damned if he didn’t confess that, sometimes, all he wanted was to take Scraps’ hand in front of everyone, and a world in which he could do that whenever he wanted was very very appealing.

Like right now. Right now, he would have killed to be able to take his hand, to find solace in his arms. But no. That wasn’t happening. Some of their teammates around them had started to catch up with the news, and Kent’s stomach hurt. He made a run for the bathroom.

Scraps found him in a stall, his head bent over the toilet.

“It’s going to be alright. Let’s get you home, okay?” Seeing him like that distraught him, but Kent needed his help, and he didn’t need the mess that would inevitably occur if they went back there again.

He hoisted Kent up and led him to the sink. “Come on, we need to go before they realize we’ve left.” He watched Kent rinse his mouth, and peeked outside before exiting the bathroom. “This way. There is a backdoor we can use.”

Shortly afterwards, they emerged outside. Right onto Swoops who was… smoking?! “Oh for fuck’s sake, Swoops. I really didn’t need that tonight. Please put that out. Now.” Scraps said, using every inch of his veteran authority. “Coach will be pissed if he learns you started smoking.”

Swoops whined. “Come on, I swear I don’t smoke, but I really need that one. And why are you here anyway? And with Kent?” He questioned.

Swoops was a rookie who had been drafted to the team this year. He was a bit cocky, but a good kid otherwise. Scraps sighed. “Give me that.” Swoops gave in and handed the cigarette to him. Scraps flicked it to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his shoe.

Swoops was looking at them now. “Please, don’t make me go back inside.” He pleaded. “I know team bonding is important, especially now, because we’ve lost and all that, but I can’t. I really can’t.”

Scraps was puzzled. To his knowledge the kid didn’t have a problem with anyone on the team. And he hadn’t taken their loss hard. It had been his first year in the NHL, and sure, he had been sad not to win, but even going to the Conference Finals had been huge for him. So this wasn’t about seeing another team win. He was at a loss. And Kent was no help. He was way too panicked to process anything.

“Did you drink?”

“I can’t drive if that’s what you’re asking. Please. Don’t make me go back. Why don’t you let me come with you? You’re driving Kent home anyway, right? He is drunk, isn’t he?”

Scraps was thinking fast. He hated lying. Kent wasn’t drunk. He actually hadn’t had a drink all evening, because he was supposed to be one of the designated drivers. But this was the perfect way out.

“Yes.” That wasn’t lying he decided. Yes, he was driving Kent home. No, he wasn’t drunk. “Okay, you can come, but hush, and hurry the fuck up.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

This was definitely not ideal, but this was better than just letting the kid here, fending for himself.

The ride was oddly silent. No one was talking. Kent was staring out the window, in the distance. Scraps was focusing on the road. And Swoops was anxiously fidgeting in the back seat.

“Remind me your address? I’m dropping you off first.”

“I- Just drop me at the Aces’ stadium, I’ll manage.”

“It’s fine, we can drive you home.”

“No, you can’t.”

Silence.

“Is everything alright, kid?” Scraps asked, tentatively. He had figured it wasn’t, but he didn’t know what it was.

“Because my parents are home! Because my very fucking homophobic parents are home! So no, you can’t.” Swoops shouted.

And he started crying. It turned into sobs quite rapidly, and Scraps was full on freaking out. That was definitely not what he was expecting, and he was driving, and he didn’t know what to say or what to do.

“It’s fine. He can come with us to my place. You can stay the night, okay?” Kent said, strangely calm, while looking at Swoops in the rear-view mirror.

Scraps parked outside Kent’s apartment building. The three of them slowly made their way upstairs. Kent unlocked the door.

“Shoes off.” He commented.

He picked up Kit who was extremely suspicious of the intrusion, but let herself being handled. They went to the couch where Kent promptly collapsed with Kit on his chest. Scraps was scratching the back of his head in confusion, and Swoops was nervously standing by the doorframe. Kent sighed and sat upright. Kit protested, but still settled down on Kent’s lap.

“Have a sit.” He suggested to Swoops, showing him the armchair. He then looked at Scraps and made some room for him to sit next to him. After both of them sat down, Kent took Scraps’ hand, just like he had wanted to do so badly back in the bar, and exhaled. “I’m queer.”

Scraps’ hand tightened around his. Kent felt better, but also scared. He was fully relying on his guts, and his guts were telling him to be honest, and to trust Swoops. They were also telling him that _something_ was happening, and that that _something_ was scary, but maybe it was a good thing too.

Scraps cleared his throat. “And I’m gay.”

“We’re together.” Kent went on.

Swoops let out a nervous laugh. “Oh God. With all the silence in the car, I was freaking out so much. I was almost shitting my pants. Oh God.” He laughed again. “I’m sorry. It’s nervous. Oh God.” He passed a hand over his face. “Ugh.” He looked at Kent and Scraps. “You know, I had heard things about the Aces, before I got drafted. Like, about their reputation, shit they were saying on the ice, and stuff. And I mean, I had seen Carl’s stunt after gay marriage was legalized. But still. I wasn’t expecting it to be that bad, you know. I really wasn’t. It’s almost as bad as at home. Except it’s actually worse. Because I don’t actually think my parents would ever beat me up if they learned about it.” He started crying again.

Kent stood up and went over to him. He took him in his arms, just like he had wished someone would when he himself had realized how bad the situation was when he first got drafted. Swoops finally calmed down after a while.

“Okay. That’s enough for tonight. Time to go to bed, kid.”

He led him to the guest bedroom, and lent him some pajamas.

“I’m down the hallway if you need anything. Kit knows how to open doors, so don’t be surprised if she attacks you at four in the morning. Sleep tight.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem.”

“And, uh, thanks for the rest too.”

“It’s okay. Get some sleep.”

Kent went to his own bedroom where Scraps was waiting for him.

“What an evening, uh?” He said.

“You don’t say.” Kent said, laughing. He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to let out some steam. “Ouh. Uh. Oh.” He had tears in his eyes.

He became serious again. “What are we gonna do, Scraps?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Sleep?”

Kent chuckled again. “Yeah, you’re right.”

And in the midst of this storm, Kent remembered another night, another very different night. They had had almost the exact same conversation, but for a very different reason.


	4. A very different kiss

The volunteer at the shelter was extremely dubious about Kent and his unfortunate companion. They were wearing a jean jacket with a bunch of space patches, and a pronoun badge that said ‘they/them’. They also didn’t seem to know anything about hockey. They hadn’t batted an eye when they had seen Kent and Scraps.

“Show me your cats!” Kent had joked. He was still nervous and flustered. He didn’t know why, but anytime he met someone who wasn’t cis and straight, it made him suddenly anxious. It didn’t matter that he was queer himself, it instantly made him sweat and his heart would suddenly decide to take a sprint.

“Excuse him, he is stressed. He is serious about adopting a cat though, I can vouch for him.” Scraps had said.

“Uh. Sure… We need to ask you a few questions first, make you fill a form, follow me.”

Scraps was chastising Kent. “Come on, be serious, you’re probably going to meet the future love of your life today. You should be on your best behavior.”

The shelter was full of noise, with meowing and barking left and right. The volunteer led them to a room with a desk and a handful of chairs.

“Please take a seat, I’ll be right back.”

Kent was getting more and more stressed by the minute.

“What if they don’t think I can take good care of a cat? What if they think I’m not suited to adopt one? What if they made us sit there just so they could call security, and then I’ll be blacklisted in every shelter in Vegas and-”

“Kent. I’m confident this is standard procedure. My sister had to fill forms before seeing the animals. And, yes, they did that in an office, but it was a much smaller shelter, they only had one room.”

“But what if they think I can’t be a good cat dad?”

“I doubt that. I’ve seen all the books you’ve bought and read. And all the googling. And all the videos. You’re informed, and that’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure a lot of the people who came here to adopt did less research and still left with a cat.”

“But what if they don’t think I’m ready?”

“Let’s see. You’ve got a carrier, litter, a litter box, toys, you put empty shelves on the walls for climbing space, at least two cat trees, a water fountain, and a cat bed. You said you didn’t want to buy food in advance because you wanted to see with the shelter if they had recommendations. I think you’re ready. And if they want you to wait a bit, we will wait. I’ll be here for you, okay?”

“Okay. Okay. Yes.” Kent took off his cap, passed a hand through his hair, and put it back on. He focused on doing some breathing exercises his therapist had recommended.

The door opened, the volunteer was back.

“So sorry, we had a bit of a mess in the dogs’ section but it’s under control.”

“Nothing bad?” Scraps asked.

“Oh no, just… diarrhea. It’s a new pup, we think he is stressed, but the vet is going to check on him this afternoon. Anyway, so you want to adopt a cat?”

“Yes, I do.”

The little interview was pretty straightforward. They made sure he lived in a suitable environment and had the means to care for a cat. And maybe Kent over justified himself, but it didn’t seem to matter much. The volunteer listened and seemed convinced by Kent’s honesty. They explained to him how the adoption process went. He filled a form with his contact information and finally got to the heart of the matter.

“So, do you already have some idea about which cat you would want to adopt?”

“Well, I looked at your website, but I’m mostly looking for a chill cat. We’re going to travel quite a bit, and I’ve learned that there are all kinds of steps to train a cat to travel, but it would definitely be great if the cat is predisposed to travel, not spooked by everything, that kind of thing.”

“Hm, yeah, we have a few cats that are pretty chill. Actually, there is one that might suit you very well. She is… she is a handful, but the chillest handful you’ll ever meet. She needs a lot of attention, and she is crazy smart. She escaped twice. We had to put a padlock on her crate. But each time, she just tried to steal treats and then napped on someone’s coat. But still, you might want to baby-proof your house. She is chaotic good, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah, I know.” Kent was already a little starstruck. She sounded like the best kitty he could think of.

“I won’t lie, she will be a lot of work, but if you do right by her, I’m sure you’ll be bonded for life.”

“Can we meet her?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go!” They hopped up on their feet.

Kent and Scraps followed them to one of the cats’ rooms. There was, indeed, a crate with a padlock on it. It was the only one. And the cat inside was a furry little void.

“Here is the princess. We think she is two.”

Kent approached the crate and immediately cooed at the cat. She was asleep, and she was the most perfect cat he had ever seen. It was love at first sight.

“Here, try this. She is very food motivated. And with how smart she is, you’ll probably be able to teach her tricks.” They handed Kent a few treats. Immediately, the ears of the cat perked up.

“Interested, uh?” Kent smirked. The cat chirped. He handed one treat to her. She sniffed it, inquisitive, before promptly inhaling it like a small vacuum. Kent laughed. He gave her the remaining treats, one by one.

When she realized there wasn’t any left, she passed a paw through the grid of the crate and pawed at Kent. He lightly tapped on her paws. She tapped back. “Awww.” Kent was over the moon. “You were right Scraps, I think I’m in love.” He turned back to the volunteer and got poked in the back for his trouble. “Can I pick her?”

“Sure! I knew you would be a good fit. You won’t be able to take her home today, though. She isn’t sterilized yet. We will put her on our vet’s schedule, and you should be able to come pick her up in a few days, we will keep you updated.”

And that was it. They went back to the front desk. Kent filled some more forms, paid the adoption fees. He would get her health record booklet on pick-up day, and then she would be all his.

“Well, one last thing, you’ve got a name in mind?”

Kent brightened up. “Yes. Kit. Kit Purrson.” He had the biggest smile on his face. Scraps resisted the urge to face-palm, the volunteer was completely oblivious, and Kent was extremely proud of himself.

He didn’t lose the smile for the next few hours. He was going to have a cat. In a few days he would have a cat. It was so soon, but also so far away. He felt giddy.

“I can’t believe I found the most perfect cat ever.”

“You haven’t even lived with her yet.” Scraps objected.

“Doesn’t matter, she is the best and I know it.”

“I almost regret it. We’re never going to hear the end of it. You’re going to turn into those people with thousands of pictures of their kids on their phone and nothing else.”

“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! You should be grateful that I’ll share her beauty and perfection with all of you. She is a jewel, and I’ll share it with the world. Just you wait and see.”

“Oh no doubt.”

They grabbed a second breakfast together before they parted ways. Kent went to training and Scraps probably went back to bed.

Kent spent two very fidgety days, trying to keep his mind busy with training, a PR stunt, trying a new recipe, buying cat food, and treats, and more cat toys. He also baby-proofed his entire apartment, just in case, as the shelter had suggested it.

He tried to start a new book, but couldn’t focus. His mind kept going back to Kit, and how she was going to be there in less than twenty-four hours, and how she was the best cat in the world, and how she was going to be his princess. He was buzzing with excitement and anticipation.

Scraps had offered to come with him to pick Kit up. And Kent was not going to say no.

They went together to get Kit. The volunteer they had met the first time was there, and they handed Kit to him.

“If she doesn’t like the cone, you can try putting toddler shirts on her. The surgery went alright, just watch her stitches and come back in a week so we can remove them.”

“Alright. Thank you so much! Let’s get you home, princess!” He cooed at Kit. He felt his excitement and energy were radiating. It was a new adventure starting, and he hoped it would be a good one too.

They drove to Kent’s. Scraps was driving, and Kent was in the backseat with Kit in her carrier.

They reached Kent’s flat and brought Kit in the living room. Kent laid Kit’s carrier in a corner, not far from her water fountain and her bowl, and a litter box. He thought she might want to hide out in her carrier for a bit.

It was his first mistake.

Releasing her felt like releasing a beast.

As soon as she was out, she started exploring, knocking things everywhere with her cone.

Kent was soon running after her, which was his second mistake.

She thought he was playing, and she scurried anytime he approached. Her pupils were dilated, and she seemed to be having the time of her life. Kent was very much not.

“Come on, kitty cat. You need to be careful. You have stitches. Please. Come here. Come, come.”

Scraps was absolutely clueless, he had never had a cat, and wasn’t sure of how to proceed, but he remembered the volunteer saying she was ‘food motivated’.

“Maybe we should lure her with food?” He suggested.

“That-that’s actually a good idea.”

Kent poured some kibbles in Kit’s bowl while Scraps was trying to lure her with treats. It worked. She went to her bowl, while they closed every door.

“Okay. Mission containing the beast is a success. She has everything she need in the living room. She will be fine, and I won’t have to worry about her getting stuck under the bed or something.”

But as they say, bad things always come in threes. As they were about to learn it the hard way, Kit knew how to open doors.

While they set out to eat some lunch, Kent heard a soft click and a thud. He turned around. The door leading to the hallway was slightly ajar.

“Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me. This is worse than watching a toddler, way worse.”

He rushed outside in the hallway, calling for Kit.

“Kitty cat, little kitty, princess? Where are you?” He heard a faint thud in the distance, it seemed to have come from his bedroom. “Oh no.”

Scraps was coming behind him, with a towel. “I watched a video, I have an idea.”

He went to Kent’s bedroom where Kit was trying to open a closet door. He got treats out of his pocket and showed them to Kit. Distraction. Then, he gently wrapped her up in the towel. Neutralization.

“One angry purrito coming right up.”

He brought her back to the living room, Kent closed the doors behind them, again. Kit was not pleased.

“Okay, new plan,” Kent said, “we need to entertain her, keep her busy, or she might actually eat us alive.” And that time, he was right.

And so they did. And Scraps thought Kent was right. This was worse than watching a toddler. Endlessly entertaining a cat was hard. They spent the entire day just keeping her busy, watching her at all times when she was napping, just generally making sure she wasn’t pulling on her stitches.

And at the end of the day, they were exhausted. But mischief seemed to have been exhausted out of Kit’s system too. At least for the day.

Scraps crashed on the couch. “What a day, uh?” He said.

“You don’t say.” Kent said, laughing. He couldn’t stop himself. He was trying very hard to be silent, but he needed to let out some steam. “Ouh. Uh. Oh.” He had tears in his eyes. He finally calmed down and turned to Scraps. “Oh God, I feel like I’ve aged ten years, what are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” Scraps answered. “Sleep?”

Kent chuckled again. “Yeah, you’re right.” He turned to Kit again, she was asleep, sprawled all over her cat bed. “She is so damn cute though. I love her.”

Scraps stood up and joined Kent. They watched her sleep together. Time seemed to have ceased for an instant.

Kent looked at Scraps. Actually, he was looking at _Stephen_. He liked his name, his _civilian_ name, as he often joked.

When Kent thought about him as _Stephen_ , it put him in a different light, bore a different flavor. It was as if he was discovering another facet of him. A facet he didn’t share with the other Aces.

And now, as he was looking at him, he felt this weird pinching in his heart. He was so close. He felt so close. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest.

Stephen was looking at him too, now. Kent took a small step forward. He placed a hand on Stephen’s chest. He didn’t move away. Kent got up on his tip-toes. He kissed him softly on the lips.

Kent’s heart was about to rupture. Stephen didn’t move. The bubble they were in shattered. Time started running again.

“I should never have done that. I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, you should leave.”

“Kent, I-”

“No, I’m sorry. Please, leave. Please, leave and don’t tell anyone. Please. I’m sorry. It won’t ever happen again.”

“Kent-”

But Kent had left. A door opened and closed in the distance.

Scraps stood there, motionless, flabbergasted.

Kent heard his front door open and close. He exhaled shakily. Tears started flooding his face. Sobs and hiccups escaped his chest.

He heard a faint, inquisitive, meow. It was Kit. She was looking for him. He was curled up in a corner, behind his bed. She reached him and forcefully made her way to his lap. She immediately started purring and licking his forehead.

After a while, Kent stopped crying. Kit’s gentle purring was soothing him, and exhausted, he fell asleep, still curled up in his corner and cuddling with Kit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?


End file.
